


domestic words (domestic actions)

by LoverCrowley (ShadowScale)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowScale/pseuds/LoverCrowley
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale write each other poetry while doing domestic things.





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be sporadic, but also chapters will not be connected by any sort of plot and can be read in any order.

" _I ask for but one word of your passion, dearest friend_  
_One word to paint desire_  
_One word that elicits the most daring and bold_  
_Which elicits not a spark but a blaze_  
  
_I ask for but one word of your sincerity, dearest friend_  
_One word to show your verity_  
_One word that you would speak to me with clearest mind_  
_Which you would not detest a later day_  
  
_I ask for but one word of your devotion, dearest friend_  
_One word to seal this bond_  
_One word that affixes you to me and me to you_  
_Which affixes our bodies, our hearts, our minds, our souls_

_It is said one is the loneliest number, but not so if you’d give it me this way_  
_Can I have a word, my dearest friend?_  
_Will you grant this innocent request?_ " 

“Only one?” Aziraphale asks when he sees that Crowley’s poem has come to an end.

The demon smiles. “That’s enough for me.”

“How about three?”

“Three?!” Crowley throws his head back and clutches at his heart. “If you can spare them, gladly I would take them.”

Aziraphale smiles sweetly, sets a steaming plate down in front of him. “Here’s your three: I added blueberries.” He turns back to shut off the stove.

“But… you don’t like blueberries.” Crowley stares down at the stack of pancakes, golden brown, dotted with purple-blue spots and drizzled with syrup. It has become custom for them to have breakfast together, sharing one plate between the two of them. Usually Crowley did the cooking, but Aziraphale had insisted he take over the task of it that morning.

“No, but I know you do.”


	2. Gardening

" _What gentle hands you have_  
_Brushed with dirt and grime_  
_What I wouldn’t give_  
_To hold and make them mine_

_What lovely looks you don_  
_When gazing at the flora_  
_What I wouldn’t give_  
_To be that red ixora_

_What sweet words you speak_  
_To make your flowers bloom_  
_What I wouldn’t give_  
_To etch them on my tomb_ " 

“Your tomb? Is there something you aren’t telling me, angel?” Crowley sits back on his heels, wipes the sweat from his brow which results in a smudge of mud across his forehead.

Aziraphale smiles. “Of course not, my dear. I only meant I wish to keep your loving words for eternity. And that you must love your plants near as much as you love me, if your encouragements are anything to judge by.”

“I love them, but not near half as much as I love you.”

“You certainly give them enough words that suggest otherwise,” Aziraphale teases.

“It helps them grow. You on the other hand, I think your ego is plenty big without me lavishing you with compliments at every turn,” Crowley teases right back.

Aziraphale pouts. Crowley stands and presses a kiss to his lips.

“How about that? I don’t kiss my plants.”


	3. Lounging by the Fire

" _Curled like wisps of smoke, but thick and soft_  
_Bright red, a passionate hue_  
_Flames I’d touch and tug at, should you allow me do_  
_Though it may be cruel, I’d make no promise to be gentle_

_Obscured then not, twins I wish to see_  
_Amber warmth, but lacking heat_  
_A yellow more entrancing, than golden stalks of wheat_  
_Though it may be rude, I’d make no promise not to stare_

_Searing hot and glowing from the effort_  
_Something that can’t be hidden, nor used to deceive_  
_A piece that none but I can ever perceive_  
_Though it is expected, I still promise to be kind_  
_Though it is expected, I still promise you are mine_ "

Crowley tilts his head back, looks up at Aziraphale from where he is settled against his chest. The angel gazes a moment longer at the fireplace they are lounging in front of before meeting Crowley’s eyes.

“What was the last one?” Crowley asks softly.

“Hm?”

“My hair, and then my eyes, but what was the last one?”

Aziraphale smiles and traces the curve and angle of Crowley’s jaw. “Your heart, dearest.”

“Oh.” He smiles back, and says after a second of thought, “I would allow you. To play with my hair.”

With a quick kiss to his temple, Aziraphale sets his fingers against Crowley’s scalp. “Would you prefer I be gentle?”

“Do as you please,” Crowley rumbles back. “After all, I am yours.”


End file.
